Auror Róisín Rí - part one
by xxkitkatxxo
Summary: Falling in love meant getting hurt, and Severus knew it from their first kiss. Neasa Casey was the only thing in his life unconnected to Voldemort, to the Order and the Marauders – she was his chance for a fresh start. But no one came without strings attached; he wouldn't realise until too late that Neasa Casey didn't exist.
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

 **JUNE 1996**

Just when Neasa Casey felt like she could fight the masked Death Eater no longer she heard Neville Longbottom shouting, "DUBBLEDORE!"

The shout didn't distract the Death Eater – Neasa saw over his shoulder Dumbledore descending the stairs into the Death Chamber, his face white with anger.

The other Death Eaters began to scamper when they spotted him – Alastor and Tonks were passed out on the ground, Remus and Shacklebolt's Death Eaters had fled – but Sirius was still fighting Bellatrix Lestrange near the Veil on the raised dais.

Quite suddenly Neasa's Death Eater made a lunge for her and she sprinted in the opposite direction, towards the steps on the dais, catching some precious few moments when he was distracted. She was halfway up when she reached for her pistol; with a weapon in each hand she finally had the advantage, and she attempted to Stun him again.

Unfortunately the Death Eater was too fast; as soon as he saw her he dashed up the dais and her Stunner made a pathetic little dent in the ground where he'd been.

Bellatrix and Sirius were still chasing each other around the Veil. Neasa's hands were sweaty and she couldn't get a grip on the handle of her pistol; her fake blonde hair had fallen in front of her eyes and she shot at random, missing and hitting the masked Death Eater in the arm, causing him to shriek in pain and crumple to the floor.

Sirius and Bellatrix hurtled towards Neasa and she ran out of their way, trying to regain her breath – she felt even dizzier, and she knew her magical core was weakening.

Sirius ducked Bellatrix's _Expelliarmus_ – "Come on, you can do better than that!" he mocked.

She aimed again, and this time the red spell hit his chest and his laughter seemed to hang still in mid-air, his shocked expression frozen as such, and he stumbled backwards, dangerously close to the misty Veil. He lost his balance and grabbed onto the stone arch, and Bellatrix raised her wand to fire again.

" _Protego!_ " Neasa cried, but she was too late – Bellatrix's spell hit Sirius and the useless Shield Charm went up a second later. Before Neasa could concern herself with Sirius, Bellatrix rounded on her and made to attack – Neasa raised another shield but the spell broke through. Her powers were becoming so weak she couldn't fight Bellatrix with magic alone, so she raised her pistol instead, ready to fire a killing shot.

But the Death Eater she had shot earlier was too fast. Despite his bleeding arm he raised his wand at her and Stunned her before she could fire, and she was thrown back against the far wall, unconscious before her pistol and wand clattered to the floor.

 **0o0o0o**

 **AN** \- So that was the prologue of what will (hopefully) be a three-part series but since school is starting again I will only have time to upload the first part.

I had the idea for it while reading the stories for the first time this year. Snape was my favourite character from the start and his story was the most poignant, and, because of that, the saddest too, and I wanted to write this as a tribute to him. Also I hadn't written anything big in a long time and I missed writing, and as soon as I created Neasa, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Not to mention I wrote the first drafts while studying for a maths exam so if it hadn't been for this I would actually understand calculus. from that point of view alone I don't want it to be wasted :')

The plot will move a little slowly for the first two or three chapters but it'll pick up quickly after that.


	2. Severus and Róisín

_**Severus and**_ ** _Róisín_**

 **AN -** (some stuff I forgot to mention)

This story will have a few OCs so if you don't like, don't read. There is some groundwork to lay so the first chapter just sets the scene, I guess. Neasa won't appear until chapter two. The story takes place during Order of the Phoenix and will stick to canon.

Also if anyone is confused the name _Róisín Rí_ is pronounced _Roh-sheen R-ee_ and _Siobhán_ is said _Shiv-awn_. The ticks (fadas) above the letters indicate accent.

 **0o0o0o**

 **JULY 1995**

The bottle of Firewhisky was dry and it made Severus slam shut the drawer of his office desk. Instead of rummaging around for a spare one he retrieved a vial of Calming Draught from his stores and poured it into the whisky glass, before finishing it off in one go.

Leaning his elbows on the leaves of parchment on his desk, he pressed the balls of his palms against his eyes. His heartbeat slowed its pace; he shivered a little for the cold in his office, but didn't do anything to change it. Having just returned from a meeting of the Death Eaters, and the sustained use of Occlumency giving him a wretched headache, he was in no mood to talk to anyone when a knock sounded at his door.

The castle was quiet and empty except for himself, Filch, Albus and Minerva; despite his temper he flicked his wand at the door and it swung open. Severus didn't look up as the person walked in and seated themselves opposite him at his desk.

"Why aren't you at home?"

Severus relaxed; it was Albus.

"Spinner's End?" he asked. "Not much of a home. I needed a Calming Draught."

"How did it go?"

"The Dark Lord is looking to recruit the Dementors of Azkaban. He's hoping to free the Death Eaters incarcerated after the last war."

Perhaps it was how small and defeated Severus's voice sounded, but it made Albus ask, "Are you alright?"

"Don't mind me," Severus said, focused on the stars swimming before his eyes.

"Severus – forgive me – but we cannot win this war if my spy is unwell."

Now it was his temper speaking: "Is the war all you care about?"

"The war is _not_ all I care about," Albus said defensively.

Severus finally removed his palms form his eyes and let his head fall forward, his fingers in his hair. He took a deep breath, taking in the familiar and comforting smell of years of potions brewing that seemed to forever hang in his office. It felt good to be back, even if only for an evening.

"You're right," he said at last. "We can't win this war if I'm in this state."

"In what state? I have rarely seen you look so… exhausted."

"It's just stress," Severus replied, "and a headache."

"It's more than that."

It was no use hiding anything from Albus; perhaps it was his age and wisdom or whatever, but he had an uncanny way of always knowing how Severus was feeling, even without Legilimency.

Severus rose from his chair and walked over to the fireplace, where he muttered " _Incendio_ ," under his breath and a roaring fire appeared. The heat flickered against his face; he stuck out his hands and rubbed them, but that soon turned into a nervous wringing.

"I'm tired," he said. "Not sleepy – _tired_. Weary – worn-out. Not a physical tiredness either – this is mental."

"When did it start?" Albus asked. He had since moved to an armchair to Severus's left.

"As soon as I returned as a spy. I feel defeated – I feel like there isn't a point in fighting this war."

"Isn't a _point_?"

"There isn't a point in _me_ fighting," Severus corrected himself. He glanced at Albus and found the concern in the other man's eyes too much, so he looked back to the fire. "Look at it this way: Minerva's got a school to protect – so's Filius, Pomana, everyone – you're – well, you're _Dumbledore_ – you're doing it for the good of our kind… Molly and Arthur – they've got their children to look after…

"Last time," he continued, "I was spying for Lily's safety – but she's gone. Why – why am I still _here_?"

"You swore to protect Lily's son," Albus replied.

"I need a better reason than that to get up in the morning."

"You _swore_ –"

"But I'm not doing my job right – you said it yourself – I'm useless if I'm in this state."

"Are you depressed?" Albus asked.

"No. Not quite."

"You have fatigue, then. And you've moved on from Lily – otherwise you wouldn't be feeling this way."

Severus just shrugged.

"We're going in circles," he said. "I do not believe the Dark Lord is undefeatable – but I still feel terrible."

Albus was quiet for a few moments, and then he flicked his wand and two glasses of mead appeared suspended in the air. He took one, and Severus took the other. They drank simultaneously.

"Sit."

Severus sat.

"Is there anything else bothering you?"

"Nothing but the usual," Severus said. Albus arched an eyebrow. "Sirius – you know how we hate the ground the other walks on. His presence is intolerable. The summer Potions marking feels like it'll never end. Then, of course, my house is infested with mice."

"All the more reason for you to leave," Albus said, the ghost of a smirk on his face. "Being alone at Spinner's End does you no good – you should stay in your rooms at Hogwarts until term."

Severus gave a small nod of assent.

"You might find this a welcome distraction," Albus continued, reaching into his pocket and taking out a newspaper cutting. He passed it to Severus, who unfolded it. "Minerva and I have decided Hogwarts needs a secretary – between the Order and teaching and the Ministry, we need someone to do the everyday tasks. That advert–" he nodded at the newspaper "–went out last week."

"Has anyone responded?" Severus asked, putting the cutting aside.

"A few people – two from England and one in Scotland. The fourth is from Ireland – isn't that curious?"

"I can't imagine who would move country just for a secretarial job."

"That's what I thought," Albus mused. "Neasa Casey – anyone you know?"

"I've never met a Casey," Severus said simply, his eyes falling on the cutting. About now he could do with a good crossword to clear his mind – or, even better, Sudoku – but the _Prophet_ had stopped printing those long ago.

Albus drained his glass and stood.

"Her CV is excellent," he said. "I look forward to her interview."

"I'm intrigued," Severus remarked sleepily.

 **0o0o0o**

 _The lovers Disapparated from the rowdy pub in Diagon Alley – where their friends remained drinking – and reappeared in the musty hallway outside her cheaply rented apartment. The Muggle landlady was on holiday – no one had to know she'd brought back a man._

 _Still giggling about some clever remark he'd made on their arrival, she flicked her wand at the door and it unlocked – but not before his hands tickled her waist and she laughed out loud._

 _Shhh!" she said, as if he was the noisy one. "You'll wake the Muggles!"_

 _She pushed open the door, and the moment it was shut behind them he pinned her against it, keeping his palms on the wood on either side of her shoulders. She gave him a look as if challenging him to make a move. Whatever about his running away from home or being the only Gryffindor in a house full of Slytherins or riding a flying motorbike – she made him nervous._

 _He softened, dropping his right hand to cup the side of her neck. Her breathing was a little unsteady for the anticipation that buzzed in the air; it hitched in her throat when he leaned his forehead against hers, their noses touching._ _The smell of cheap beer was on both of them, but they were far from drunk. Outside it was hardly dark; the night was still young._

 _Sirius," the woman whispered._

 _Róisín?" asked Sirius._

 _Róisín pushed Sirius's hair behind his left ear, and then held the back of his head in her hand. Meanwhile Sirius's other hand had fallen to her waist, pulling her a few inches closer._

 _Kiss me," Róisín said._

 _The other Auror didn't need telling twice._

Fifteen years later, Róisín Rí had a handsome office in Dublin with a drinks cabinet in the corner and a mantelpiece dotted with awards and trophies. (Silver Phial for potions abilities, Golden Sword for duelling talents.) She was no longer that carefree twenty-year-old apprentice; she'd made her life out of being the best Auror she could, had made it her passion – her obsession.

The light was now fading outside – the Muggle streetlamps were switching on, casting glittering lights over the River Liffey – but Róisín still sat at her office desk, because there was no one to go home to. She was surrounded by newspaper clippings –

 _BLACK STILL AT LARGE: AZKABAN ESCAPEE STILL MISSING_

 _SCENES OF TERROR AT QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP_

 _TRAGEDY AT TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT_

 _THERE IS NOTHING TO FEAR, SAYS THE MINISTER_

 _THE BOY WHO LIES?_

 _DUMBLEDORE: DAFT OR DANGEROUS?_

 _DUMBLEDORE DEMOTED FROM CHIEF WARLOCK IN THE WIZENGAMOT_

Róisín had spent all day poring over _Daily Prophet_ clippings, updating herself on the situation in Britain. If she was going to be working there, she reasoned, she needed to know what had been happening in recent months. The idea still thrilled her: working outside of her little Irish bubble. She hadn't worked in Britain since the First Wizarding War, when she'd met Sirius.

That's where her mind rested now – not on the _Prophet_ or Voldemort but on Sirius, the man whom she had believed, until very recently, to be a Death Eater guilty of thirteen deaths.

"Do you not have a home to go home to?"

The sing-song Cork accent of Róisín's secretary, Patricia, pulled her from her thoughts; she looked up to see the other witch poking her head around the door.

"I'd only be working if I went home," Róisín said. _Besides,_ she added in her head, _the house is empty. No one's waiting on me to cook dinner._

Patricia's eyes scanned the office distractedly, then fell to rest on the window and the city outside. Her smile faltered.

"Bags packed and everything?" she asked.

"Bags packed. Everything."

"I wish you'd tell me where you're off too. I'm worried about you, Róisín. Oh, I know you can look after yourself–" Patricia folded her arms tightly "–but, well, _Dumbledore_. Your job's dangerous, isn't it? If Dumbledore himself hired you?"

Róisín smiled gently. "All of my missions abroad are dangerous."

"Any idea why he asked for you?"

"No idea," Róisín lied.

"I still remember when you were just starting here," Patricia smiled fondly. "I've seen so many Aurors come and go – but you were something different; I knew that from the beginning. You were so _driven_. You always knew you never wanted anything but to be an Auror. I still don't know where you get it from."

Róisín just smiled. It had everything to do with Siobhán's death.

The women said their goodbyes and Róisín was left to her newspaper clippings. She began tidying them away into a folder and left it in a drawer, then she threw back the last of a glass of Bailey's and stood to gaze out of the window behind her desk.

Last time she'd been in London – as an apprentice with the Auror Office – she'd had a blissful year with Sirius, and the proof for that was the tiny moving photograph she now held between her fingers. It showed herself and Sirius on Westminster Bridge – Big Ben was in the background – with his arm around her shoulders, grins on their young faces. On the back was an inscription: _Westminster, June 1981. Our one year anniversary. Taken by Remus._

Róisín still couldn't get used to the idea that he was innocent. Her heart had broken when she'd learnt he'd betrayed the Potters and killed twelve Muggles – she'd fled back to Dublin with nothing but her wand and the clothes on her back. While everyone else was celebrating the fall of Lord Voldemort, she was crying in her mother's arms.

Since Dumbledore had visited Róisín at the Irish Auror Department two weeks ago and asked her to take on this job for him and Sirius, she'd only seen the latter twice, both times in Grimmauld Place. The first time they'd spent most of it getting to know each other again – Róisín had stayed long after Dumbledore had left, talking and talking and _talking_ right through the night with Sirius.

This had the consequence that she remembered very little of what they spoke about – but she remembered plain as day how it felt to kiss him again.

One word: different. It had been just a kiss to test the water – but she knew too much time had passed since their last, and however strong her feelings might once have been, they wouldn't come back so quickly.

It didn't mean she didn't love him, though. Sirius would always have a place of his own in her heart.


	3. The Interviewee Who Lied

_**The Interviewee Who Lied**_

 **AN** – I'm so excited to finally introduce my OC, Neasa, because she's honestly one of my favourite characters I've ever written. Bear with me for this chapter because there is still groundwork to lay.

 **0o0o0o**

 **JULY 1995**

On a hot, sunny day – which held no clouds in the sky – a witch with black hair, short heels, and a travelling cloak draped over her arm appeared in Hogsmeade High Street, clutching a chipped coffee mug. She shrunk and pocketed the Portkey and made her way to the Hogwarts castle, holding her hand above her head in a vain attempt to keep the sun from burning her.

In her other hand Neasa Casey held a folded newspaper clipping which showed an advert for the position of school secretary at Hogwarts. _Applicants should owl their CV in advance and present themselves at the castle on July 28th at midday._

Neasa simply had to apply as soon as she'd seen the advert – much to the confusion of her mother, who, on hearing her second daughter wanted to work abroad, had made it clear to Neasa how she felt about it all.

"I can't understand why you have to go away," she'd said, with her heavy Derry accent. "What's wrong with Dublin?"

"There's nothing wrong with Dublin," Neasa had replied, her own accent a strange balance between north and south.

They'd had this conversation at the reception of her sister Bess's wedding to a half-blood wizard, when Neasa had told her parents of her intentions to work in Scotland. Her father raised no objection except to nod and hum at what her mother was saying.

"Why are you going?" her mother asked, leaning forward a little.

"I can't tell you – I'm sorry," Neasa said – and it was the truth. Her family had been through hell and back – and that made them close, but there were some things her parents just couldn't know about her life.

"Is it… anything dangerous?" her mother asked. When Neasa frowned in confusion, she added, "I mean – I know I'm not really up to date with what happens in your world–" (her parents were both Muggles) "–but Bess has said things – about – that Dark wizard – you know the one… some people are saying he's returned… Do you believe them?"

"I do," Neasa said simply. Her mother looked away, her eyes falling on Bess dancing with her husband. She sighed wistfully.

Neasa could feel it coming – The Question. A question her mother asked every time Neasa was single. It was forever the same one – "Are you seeing anyone?" – but it was always phrased differently: "Have you been out recently?" – "Is there anyone in your life at the moment?" – "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

The Question was always preceded by a solid two minutes of fiddling with the clasp on her handbag, checking the time on her watch, sighing wistfully a couple of times, and glancing meaningfully at Neasa's father for support. Once her mother had completed all of these steps – in under a minute and a half – she looked intently at Neasa and asked delicately, "Are you _happy_?"

This was a new variation on The Question Neasa hadn't heard before.

"I'm fine," she replied gently.

"What happened to John?"

"Snake allergy."

Her mother gave her a scolding look, and Neasa said defensively, "I couldn't get rid of Athrea!"

"Well, if you ask me a relationship is all about compromise," her mother said. "Look at Bess – she swore she'd never marry a banker. You're thirty-five. You can't leave it forever."

Neasa didn't reply – she was used to this nagging and it didn't bother her as much as it once did. Even so, it niggled at her: should she have given Athrea away for John? Who chooses a pet snake over a man who irons his own shirts?

A moment later she heard her mother sigh again, saw her gaze settling on Bess once more, now dancing a slow dance with her new husband at the far end of the ballroom.

"Siobhán would have loved that dress," her mother said softly. Neasa's father finally seemed to come back to earth and turned to his wife, concern in his eyes.

Neasa's mother looked at him and said, "It's that time of year."

Her father looked over the top of her mother's head at their newlywed third daughter, who was sharing a laugh with her husband and another dancing couple. Neasa took a large mouthful of white wine.

Her mother glanced at her and said, "Visit Siobhán before you go. She'd like that."

Neasa was approaching the tall iron gates of Hogwarts, pulling her from her reverie. Just inside the gates was a staff member – a tall, thin man who wore robes of all black with sleeves that finished past his wrists. He was lazily fanning himself with a slip of parchment.

As Neasa drew closer the man looked up from the ground and, after a glance at the parchment, asked in a monotone, "Neasa Casey?"

"Neasa Casey," said Neasa.

"Excellent," the man said, tapping his black wand on the gates, which unlocked. Neasa stepped past and waited for him to lock them again. "I'm Professor Snape – I'll be on the panel," he added.

He silently led the way to the castle, Neasa falling into step beside him. Professor Snape had messy black hair a little shorter than Neasa's and obsidian eyes, contrasting his pale skin. He walked with purpose, so Neasa copied him.

Her eyes scanned the surroundings: behind them, a large black forest with enormously high trees; ahead, the castle, with towers so tall they seemed to scrape the sky. She spotted in the distance a small hut, jut big enough for one person to live in, and a black dog panting outside the door.

"What do you teach?" Neasa asked to fill the silence.

"Potions," said Professor Snape.

"I was never good at Potions – I was always one for History of Magic."

"Can't imagine why."

"Sorry?"

The Professor glanced at Neasa. "I've never heard anyone who went through Professor Binn's classes say they enjoyed History – not to say anything negative about a colleague, but…"

Neasa smiled. "I didn't go to Hogwarts."

"Beauxbatons?"

"Bríd," said Neasa. "The Irish school of magic."

"Bríd," Professor Snape echoed quietly. "Yes, I've heard of it. Is it a good school?"

"It's a great one."

"Where's your accent from?"

"Derry – in the North of Ireland."

"You mean Londonderry?"

"They're the same place," Neasa replied stiffly. "I'm in Dublin City now."

 **0o0o**

Professor Snape had asked Neasa to take a seat in a corridor just off the Entrance Hall, on a row of chairs where three other candidates were sat – two women and one man. The Professor called them through in turn – Neasa was second from last.

She followed him into an empty classroom, where the three-person panel sat at a long table with a single chair in front of them. Neasa recognised Albus Dumbledore sitting in the middle, with Professor Snape on his right and a witch in tartan robes on his left. She shook their hands in turn and claimed the single chair, her cloak folded on her lap.

With the introductions over with, Dumbledore got straight to the point: "Could you tell us what made you apply for the job?" he asked. The witch to his left – Professor McGonagall – was poised to take notes.

"I believe I would be well-qualified," Neasa began confidently. "I've worked as a secretary in the Irish magical school for the last five years, and before that I worked with the Irish Ministry of Magic too."

This was a lie.

"Yes, you have some excellent references," Dumbledore said. "Please continue."

The references were falsified.

"I applied for the job because of the experience I have, and the experience I will gain. But I'm also a very organised and punctual person – and I'm used to secretarial office work."

This wasn't true.

"Have you worked in Britain before?"

"No – this would be my first time working abroad," Neasa fibbed.

"How would your colleagues at your previous workplace describe you?" Professor McGonagall asked. She had a prim, Scottish accent.

"I think – I hope – they would say I'm committed, and confident, and approachable," Neasa said with a smile, emphasising the point. "I'm a good leader – even though that isn't required of me in the job – so I think they would say that, too."

"May we have an example of your leadership skills?" Professor Snape asked. Neasa hadn't prepared for this question.

"I… well, I captained my House Quidditch team for three years when I was at school and we won for all of those three years," she calmly replied.

"So you work well on a team?"

"I do – I work best with other people," she said simply; the Professor only nodded.

"What are your own interests?" Professor McGonagall asked. "It says on your application you excelled in Muggle Studies and History of Magic."

"Yes – I don't believe in mixing the wizarding and Muggle worlds, but I do value learning about Muggle society, having grown up as one. And History of Magic was my favourite subject in school – so I hope to pursue it further. I would like to teach in History one day."

This was very untrue.

 **0o0o0o**

It hadn't taken long for Albus and Minerva to decide which candidate best suited the job: one could hardly hold a quill, one had a terrible reference, one was quite simply incompetent – and the last one was Neasa Casey.

Severus didn't waste much breath on what he thought of the candidates – but Casey remained on his mind long after he'd escorted her from the grounds. Where the other candidates had been nervous in Albus's presence, Casey had firmly shaken his hand; when the others stuttered and stammered under Minerva's piercing eyes, Casey had smiled confidently.

Severus wondered absently why she was still a secretary in her thirties when she could so easily be a Professor. Why did she want to leave Dublin? Why did she omit the 'London' in Londonderry?

In the evening Severus felt his Mark burn, and he could guess the reason why: he first told Albus where he was going and then Disapparated to the Riddle ancestral home, where the Death Eater meetings were being held.

His cloak whipped up dust on the stairs as he made his way to the drawing room, where he knew he'd find Voldemort waiting – having seen no others arriving he guessed he'd been summoned alone. The door was open when he got there; Voldemort was standing by a window, gazing out over the grounds.

Severus knocked and inclined his head; Voldemort glanced at him.

"My Lord."

"Take a seat, Severus," Voldemort motioned to two armchairs in front of an unlit fireplace, "make yourself at home."

Severus knew better than to do that, so he claimed the chair facing Voldemort, who remained by the window.

"I believe Dumbledore held a number of interviews today for an addition to his staff," Voldemort said. "What decision has he made?"

"He's chosen an Irish witch for the job – her name is Neasa Casey and she is– well– he thinks her well-qualified, My Lord."

"What do you think?"

"She is intelligent – she will make a decent secretary – however, she will be of no use to us: one of her keenest interests is Muggle Studies."

Voldemort cursed under his breath; they were low on numbers and he was looking to recruit just about anyone.

"Is she Muggleborn?" he asked.

"I don't know, My Lord," Severus lied.

"It matters not," Voldemort said bitterly. "If she is a Muggle lover she would never join our ranks."

"Even if she is of no _use_ , I don't believe her to be any _obstacle_ either. I know nothing of her politics but I don't think she would join the Order of the Phoenix or fight on Dumbledore's side – she appears too… weak-minded. My Lord."

Severus knew it was a lie; Casey was anything but weak-minded. He had only met her twice but he admired her; she had a quiet confidence about her, a gentle nature, and she was clearly intelligent – but he pushed that to the back of his mind. He didn't want to risk distractions when employing Occlumency, not when the lives of innocent people were in question.

Voldemort contemplated Severus's last words for a few moments, tapping his long nails on the windowsill, and then said at last, "Has Dumbledore found a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

Severus cringed as he retold everything he knew about Dolores Umbridge.

 **0o0o0o**

A cold, windy Monday afternoon found Severus, one again, being told to escort Casey into Hogwarts so she could meet with Albus and get to know the castle. He was only waiting by the gates for a minute before Casey approached from up the lane, her clothes and hair soaking wet.

"Travel well?" he asked ironically, unlocking the gates.

"Just fine," she said bluntly, stepping past him.

Severus showed her the spell to unlock the gates – one Albus had invented himself – and after a bit of practice she was able to perform it wordlessly.

They walked to the castle in silence, but Severus couldn't stop asking himself why Casey's cloak was dripping wet; finally, his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked, "Why – may I ask, Miss Casey – it's a sunny day, so why do you look like you've fallen into a lake?"

"Oh," Casey said, sounding fed up, "my Portkey was destined for Hogsmeade High Street but I actually landed directly under a fountain – and – well…" she motioned to her soaked clothes with a resigned look, and, for the first time in many weeks, Severus laughed out loud.

Casey glared at him at first, which only served to make him laugh more, but as they approached the school a smile crept onto her blue lips and she chuckled softly.

"I guess it is sort of amusing," she said.

When they were at the griffin statue Severus explained about the changing passwords and the moving staircase – then at last they were inside the Headmaster's office, where Albus sat behind his desk. A new desk had been set up for Casey just in front of a bookshelf – there was a small wooden block on it with her name engraved into it, as well as an inkpot and some quills.

"Severus," Albus said, just when Severus was turning to leave, "won't you stay? I have a matter to discuss with you once Neasa and I are finished. Take a seat."

Albus waved his wand and a second chair appeared in front of his desk; Severus sat next to Casey, who took off her wet travelling cloak.

"Bad weather in Dublin?" Albus asked cheerfully.

"My Portkey landed me under a fountain," Casey explained.

"Dear me – Severus – would you put Neasa's cloak by the fire?"

Albus looked expectantly at Severus, who was tired of being given orders but didn't fail to notice the shiver in Casey's voice from the cold. He took her cloak and went to light the fire, leaving the cloak – which held a soft scent of perfume – levitating by the flames.

When he returned Casey was flicking through the famous staff rulebook, and Albus was saying, "I must warn you – the rules change place each time you open and close the book."

It was annoying, but secretly Severus found it quite amusing. He watched as Casey opened the book to a random page and read over her shoulder:

 _Section VII_

 _–Any injury inflicted accidentally or otherwise on a staff member, by a student, is to be dealt with directly by the Headmaster._

 _–The student's punishment shall be decided by the injured staff member. At a minimum, the student shall receive a long period of detention and a letter to inform his/her parents._

 _–If a Prefect, they shall have their Prefect badge revoked._

Casey closed and opened the book again, to the same page, and read,

 _Section IX_ _–The breeding or housing of forbidden or dangerous magical creatures by staff members is prohibited under all circumstances._

Casey looked up. "How are you supposed to–?"

"With great difficulty," Albus said, smiling.

Severus noticed that Casey's hands were very slightly purple, and he found himself making three cups of hot tea and offering her one – out of pity, he told himself.

Casey accepted it with a grateful smile, which Severus returned; then he said, rather pointlessly, "I work in the coldest part of the castle."

Casey blinked, her eyes a soft hazel. "And?"

"I mean… well, tea helps."

He pointed hopefully to his own cup of tea.

"Ah," Casey said, with a nod. "I see."

Severus awkwardly cleared his throat. Casey smiled at him again, and he hid behind his cup, deciding to keep his mouth shut. Clearly the fatigue was really getting to him.

Albus and Casey continued chatting and Severus remained as a bored witness – or at least he was bored at first, but then he found that he couldn't stop listening to their conversation – or, more accurately, Casey's Londonderry accent. He'd never met anyone from that part of Ireland before – every sentence she spoke sounded like a question and she used words he'd never heard before.

Even long after she'd left, he couldn't get the sound of her voice out of his head.

 **0o0o0o**

 **AN** \- obv I had to make up an Irish school of magic for Neasa to attend since it wouldn't be true to her character if she went to Hogwarts. The Irish Ministry of Magic is another thing I've had to invent, I'm pretty sure that in canon the British Ministry has responsibility for Ireland too.


	4. Insomnia

**_Insomnia_**

Disclaimer: not my best chapter but I didn't want to leave uploading it too late.

 **0o0o0o**

Severus was downing as much coffee as he could get away with at the staff table on Friday morning. When he saw Albus entering the Great Hall he pushed the coffee cup away and started innocently nibbling toast. Outside it was dull and overcast and, although the enchanted ceiling was supposed to only reflect the real weather, Severus had changed it to mimic a sunny day with big, fluffy clouds.

Albus took his seat in the middle of the table and said – "I hope you're heeding my advice about avoiding caffeine – it does your fatigue no good."

"Indeed," Severus said vaguely.

"Our new secretary arrived last night – I'm sorry you missed her."

Severus had fallen asleep over summer Potions marking at six-thirty (but Albus didn't need to know that).

"How's she settling in?" he asked.

"Just fine – we had dinner with her; she's keen to get started on the job."

Albus's gaze settled on the ceiling for a moment, and then he added, "I have a favour to ask of you – just a small one. Keep an eye on Neasa – make her feel welcome."

Severus raised one eyebrow.

"I'm not the best man to make people feel welcome," he said.

"Try anyway – she _has_ just left Ireland and she doesn't know anyone here."

Albus returned to his breakfast, and after a pause so did Severus.

Minerva arrived at the table after a few minutes and struck up a conversation with Albus; Filch later joined them too, and then, as Severus was sneaking another cup of coffee when the Headmaster's back was turned, Casey entered the hall.

Her heels clicked softly on the wooden floor as she walked. She was wearing robes of a pretty midnight-blue colour, with long sleeves and a low collar, and she held a newspaper in her hand. Her attention was focused on the floating candles and the enchanted ceiling of the Hall, and as she approached the table, she asked, "Who chose today's weather?"

"Severus did," Albus said.

Casey looked at Severus, whose mouth was full of toast.

"I admire your spellwork," she said.

Severus just raised his coffee cup since he couldn't actually speak.

"I wanted to ask a small favour of you," Casey continued, now rounding the table – she chose the chair next to Severus and began spooning porridge into a bowl. "I'm re-stocking supplies for the school – would you write up what you need bought for Potions?"

"I've always ordered those myself," Severus replied.

"Then I'd be out of a job, wouldn't I? I'll drop by next week to collect it."

And she started on the porridge without another word.

Severus's eyes fell on the newspaper Casey had left on the table between them – it was entitled _An Nuacht na hÉireann_ but it was written in English. He read the first story:

 _Rumours of the return of He Who Must Not Be Named in Britain have been staunchly denied by the British Ministry of Magic for the last month, but the Irish Ministry are neither denying nor confirming it._

 _Senior Auror in the Auror Department in Dublin, Róisín Rí, gave the following written statement: "The safety of the Irish magical community is our topmost priority. We must remain mindful that He Who Must Not Be Named was only ever active in Britain agus níor rinne sé iarracht ar bith a dhéanamh ar Éirinn a ionsaí."_

Severus blinked. With a tap of her wand Casey had just changed the entire text from English to Irish – perhaps she preferred reading it that way, but it meant Severus didn't understand a word except _Éirinn_ and _Róisín Rí_ , which weren't much use. He gave up when Casey turned to the daily crossword and started filling it out – even that was in Irish.

"You said that you didn't attend Hogwarts," Severus said. "I'm just curious – what was your school like?"

"To work at or attend?" Casey asked.

"To attend. Similar to Hogwarts, I imagine?"

"Similar enough. Bríd – named after Saint Brigid – has four houses, named after the four provinces of Ireland: Ulster, Leinster, Munster, and Connacht."

"Province?" Severus asked.

Casey smiled patiently. "A group of counties. If I was to draw loose parallels to the Hogwarts Houses – Ulster would be Gryffindor, Leinster Slytherin, and Munster and Connacht Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. I was very much Ulster."

"Because you grew up there?" Severus asked.

"Yes and no – I had a friend who grew up in Leinster but was put into the house of Ulster. Ulster was the house my older sister went to, before she…"

Casey stopped abruptly, and looked away. She cleared her throat and said, "We lost Siobhán when she was… fifteen. I was ten."

"I'm very sorry," Severus replied.

Casey added after a moment, "There were three of us – three sisters – Siobhán, Bess and myself. Bess was a year younger than me."

Severus looked away, snuck another mouthful of coffee, and then Casey asked, "Do you have family nearby, Professor?"

"I was an only child and both my parents have passed – I'm not married."

"I've none of my own – my parents and Bess are in Dublin – she just got married. The rest of the family's still in Derry – we moved south when I was a teenager."

There it was again – Derry. Why did she call it that?

"You moved for school, I imagine?" Severus asked.

Casey paused, then poured herself a glass of pumpkin juice and took a long sip.

"Not for school – no – we moved because of a Muggle conflict that had started when I was nine," she said. "It began in Derry and spread over the rest of the North. At first it was all about civil rights for Catholics – and then it turned into a fight over the six counties of Ulster that belong to the British government. There was rioting on the streets – communities were split in half – Catholics were being driven out of neighbourhoods that they'd lived in for generations. We were treated much like black people once were in America.

"The conflict didn't spill over into the magical community – the Irish Ministry of Magic didn't want to intervene. They're responsible for the whole island of Ireland, unlike the Muggle government: the North still belongs to Britain."

"When you say _the North_ – you mean Northern Ireland?" Severus asked.

"It's a staple of which side of the conflict you're on: British people would use _Northern Ireland_ and _Londonderry_ ," Casey replied. She paused, took another sip of juice and added, "I don't mean to say you're the enemy, Professor – you're not. The British people aren't the enemy… it took me a long time to realise that."

A faraway look came over Casey, her eyes glazing slightly as she stared at nothing in particular. She was deep in thought – and she'd given Severus a lot to think about too.

"What's the state of the conflict at the moment?" he asked.

"Hm? Oh – sorry–" Casey shook her head "–the current state – a truce is in the works. It'll be over soon – we hope."

"I wish I could say the same here," Severus said under his breath.

"I'm sorry?" she asked blankly.

"If you don't already know – we're currently fighting our own war against…"

"Against You-Know-Who," she said.

Severus paused, before saying quietly, "If you think the rumours are true, you would be one of the few outside of Hogwarts to believe Albus about this."

"Why is that?"

"Why do you believe him?" Severus asked.

Casey paused to sip her drink again, and said, "I only know Dumbledore as a public figure and politician – not personally. He's never struck me as a liar."

"He isn't." Severus paused. "He's a man of the highest integrity."

"That doesn't sound like something you say lightly, Professor."

The secretary returned to her crossword and porridge. Severus took another slice of toast.

Casey finished her breakfast first and left soon after, quickly followed by Minerva and Filch, leaving only Severus and Albus. The older of the two leaned over a bit and asked, "What do you think of Neasa?"

"She believes you and Potter about the Dark Lord's return," Severus replied.

Albus raised both eyebrows but there was no surprise in his eyes.

"You find it unusual?" he asked.

"Of course I do – hardly any members of the public believe you two."

It begged the question: what made Casey different?

 **0o0o0o**

 _I hope you're well. Did you get the job? Don't answer that, I know you did!_

 _I wanted to let you know that lightning struck the house last week. I would have written sooner but it's been hectic at this end. We are all fine._

 _I'll write again soon. For now, wishing you the best._

The letter lay on Neasa's bedside cabinet – it was addressed to and signed by nobody. (She had been advised to destroy any written correspondence but she hadn't found it in herself to do that.)

A time charm hovered above it, telling her it was one o'clock in the morning. She couldn't sleep but she had never been an insomniac – except when her family had moved to Dublin and when she'd started attending Bríd. However, since moving into Hogwarts four days ago, she had hardly caught one decent night's sleep.

Her pet snake Athrea was happier now she was in her heated glass tank; she was a tame rough green snake who harboured a strong dislike of travelling by Portkey.

Neasa's rooms were few: the front door opened onto a small lounge with a fireplace and an arrangement of armchairs and a sofa; a bookshelf was opposite a small kitchen, next to Athrea's tank, and a dining table and chairs were next to the window. Neasa's bedroom adjoined: a simple one with a study, some shelves, and a bed next to a small window.

This was where she sleeplessly lay now – and, deciding that she needed a walk to clear her mind, she put a thick dressing gown on over her pyjamas, stepped into a pair of slippers, and left her rooms with her wand in hand.

The staff dormitories were all on the same top-floor corridor – except Dumbledore's; he had a room adjoining his office – and it was lit only by a sliver of moonlight from a faraway window. It wasn't enough to see by, so Neasa whispered " _Lumos_ ," and began walking off the corridor.

The paintings on either side of her were snoring quietly, unsettling her a little; she treaded as softly as she could to not awaken them. The next moment she was on a larger corridor, which she followed until she reached the back of a portrait of the Hogwarts founders – there were only three of them; Slytherin had long since walked out. She pushed the painting aside and walked past, onto the top landing of the central stairwell.

It was illuminated by a few torches here and there, but Neasa kept her wand lit anyway. She eyed the staircase in front of her and then, deciding it wasn't going to move, she stepped on with one foot.

In exactly that moment it did move; she retreated and waited for it to choose a destination. The other end swung around slowly, and halted at the mouth of a dark corridor on the floor below.

She stepped on, and it didn't move this time, so she continued to descend, gripping the banister as she did and being careful to avoid the missing last step. She found herself on the dark landing, holding her wand out in front, and a portrait to her left hissed – "Are you trying to blind me? You and Snape together!"

"He's up too?" Neasa asked. The portrait just swatted his hand and left his frame, and she lowered her wand and walked down the corridor.

At the end she came to a large window, and outside she could see the Great Lake, coloured beautiful silver in the moonlight. The surface of the water rippled heavily as a massive squid tentacle broke it for a moment, before sinking once more. Neasa shivered.

Most of the stars were smothered by the moon, leaving only the brightest few – Betelgeux, the North Star, Sirius. Neasa continued to gaze at them through the glass, until she heard footsteps coming in her direction.

She glanced right: a figure was walking towards her, their wand lit; they took long strides and wore a long, billowing black cloak which brushed the floor. It was Professor Snape.

He came to a halt when he saw her, and she approached him.

"Miss Casey," the Professor said – with an air of suspicion. "What are you doing up?"

"I can't sleep."

"You can't sleep."

"It's too quiet," Neasa said. The light from two wands was making her eyes burn, so she extinguished hers. "They say New York is the city that never sleeps – they haven't seen Dublin."

"I'm sorry?"

"Dublin's never quiet, and I sleep best if there's the noise of traffic and dogs barking. Here, I could hear a pin drop from the Owlery."

Snape only replied by raising one eyebrow, so Neasa asked, "Why are you up?"

The Professor paused for a long moment, before saying, "I find myself in the same situation; needed a walk to clear my mind. Do you want a vial of Sleeping Draught? –I'm fetching one for myself anyway."

"If you would be so kind," Neasa said, with a smile. Snape didn't reply; just started walking away down the corridor, and she followed.

He led her down several flights of stairs to the ground floor, and then in the direction of his office in the dungeons, where the temperature dropped sharply. Neasa rubbed her hands together as they approached his office door, which Snape unlocked with a complicated charm.

The gloomy office was no warmer than the corridor; Neasa drifted towards the fireplace and lit it up when Snape wasn't looking. He was rummaging through a cupboard behind his desk.

The office walls were lined with shelves filled with individually-labelled jars and bottles, many holding various dead animals – Neasa spotted Murtlap tentacles, an eel, a few frogs. She looked away, fearing the frogs would start moving if she stared at them too long.

Leaning next to the fireplace was a broomstick, which Neasa recognised as a Nimbus Two Thousand And One.

"You fly, Professor?" she asked.

"Occasionally," came Snape's quiet reply.

"So do I. Where's the best place you've flown?"

Snape closed the cupboard door and joined Neasa by the fire, with two vials in hand; he pocketed one.

"Around Hogwarts," he said. "The Scottish highlands. You?"

"The Giant's Causeway in Antrim. Dublin city at night is a close second."

Snape glance at the Nimbus and said, "A Christmas present. What broom to you have?"

"Just the Two Thousand," Neasa replied.

"Not a bad model," Snape remarked. "Now – as for your draught – the one I'm giving you isn't a particularly strong one but one sip before bed will be enough," he added, offering Neasa the small vial.

"I remember I tried to brew one of these in my sixth year and it kept me up for two nights," she said.

"How on _earth_ did you manage that?" Snape asked, sounding very slightly amused.

"No clue!" Neasa laughed. "I was terrible at Potions, always have been."

"Well I can assure you, this was brewed perfectly," Snape said, motioning to the vial in her hand. "Last week, in fact."

"If you don't mind my asking… is there a reason you couldn't sleep, Professor?"

Instead of answering Snape cast his gaze towards the fire, and Neasa began worrying she'd gone too far. When he looked back his eyes were searching, as if reading her – with Legilimency, she realised – and she let him.

He was only curious – he only wanted to know the true reason she wasn't sleeping, so she brought it to the forefront of her mind: the castle was too quiet – an image of her tossing and turning – it was so easy, because it was the truth. Beyond that she had already raised her Occlumency shields, not letting him pry any further if he tried.

He didn't. His eyes seemed to come back into focus, and she knew he'd found what he wanted: Snape believed her.

"Too much on my mind," he said at last. "You know how it is with the new term."

He pointed his wand at the fire, extinguishing it, and then said to Neasa, "Allow me to walk you back, Miss Casey."

 **0o0o0o**

 **AN**

 **The Troubles** – the conflict Neasa described to Severus was called the Troubles and it ran for nearly thirty years. I've always found it an interesting piece of Irish history and while reading _Harry Potter_ I kept wondering how the Troubles could have personally impacted a Muggleborn witch or wizard and the wizarding world in general. I wrote this to kind of explore that issue ( **but that won't be a central theme** ). The central theme will be the friendship and, ultimately, the relationship between Neasa and Severus.

Neasa's opinions are a reflection of the opinions of many Nationalists (and Republicans) in Ireland and, while I can _understand_ them, I don't necessarily _share_ some of her stronger opinions.

 **Bríd** – the parallels Neasa drew between the houses of Bríd and of Hogwarts were inspired by the poem _Ard Ruide_.

 **Upload schedule** – my aim is every Monday and Thursday or Friday but I can't make any guarantees about that.


	5. Crosswords and Sudokus

**_Crosswords and Sudokus_**

This chapter is a little shorter, it's just a filler really. Reviews appreciated!

 **0o0o0o**

Professor McGonagall seemed to love nothing more than showing off photos of the Gryffindor Quidditch team to anyone willing to listen – in this case, Neasa.

On a sunny Tuesday afternoon she had politely accepted a cup of tea and some biscuits in the Deputy Headmistress's office, deciding that it was time she got to know the other staff members. It had almost immediately turned to a chat about Quidditch – a favourite sport of both women – then reminiscing over their schooldays playing the game – then to the Gryffindor team. Professor McGonagall had group photos of the team line-up each year, going back to when she became Head of House.

"That's the year Oliver Wood became captain," she said proudly, pointing to a framed photograph on her wall. "He was an excellent captain – he graduated last year. Now he's reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United!"

The students in the photos wore red and gold uniforms, each with a broad smile on their faces and a broomstick by their side – but the collection ended in 1993.

"Let me show you this one," McGonagall said, ushering Neasa over to the photo from 1991. She pointed at the Seeker, who was by far the shortest and smallest on the team.

"That's Harry Potter," Neasa said, recognising the scar on his forehead. Professor McGonagall nodded proudly.

"The best Seeker I've seen in a long time – except his father, of course – James Potter," she said, her voice full of acclaim. "Harry's the youngest Seeker of the century – he really is the jewel in the crown.

"That Quidditch Cup has stood there for three years now–" she pointed to the Cup on her bookshelf "–I've become so used to seeing it there – and the House Cup too. Slytherin had it for nearly a decade before that."

The Professor added offhandedly, "Slytherin nearly won in 1992 – but because of Harry's services to the school, extra points were awarded to Gryffindor and we won it."

" _After_ Slytherin had won?" Neasa asked.

"Oh, yes – Albus awarded the points at the end-of-term feast – he even changed the decorations to suit."

Professor McGonagall looked at Neasa with a little frown, and said, "I know it sounds unfair when I say it like that – but it's only healthy inter-house competition."

Even so, Neasa wasn't convinced: it still sounded unfair.

 **0o0o0o**

The following afternoon Severus was busy brewing healing potions for the hospital wing in his office; it was a job he always left until the last weeks before term so the potions were at their best.

He'd had yet another restless night. He'd tried going without coffee that morning – which had lasted alright until about midday, and then he nearly fell asleep at his desk. He hated how dependent he'd become on caffeine in recent months – he'd never been like this since before Voldemort's return, and going cold turkey was much harder than he'd imagined. He'd never tell Albus but he hadn't actually gone more than a day without a fix.

As Severus began filling a row of vials with Dreamless Sleep, he heard a soft knock from the open door; he looked up to see Casey standing in the doorway.

"I don't mean to interrupt – do you have that list of Potions supplies I asked for?" she asked. She wore her hair in a delicate plait and Severus became suddenly conscious of how messy his own hair must look.

"It's on my desk," he said, returning to the vials, and then he added, "Would you pass me some parchment for labelling these? – there's an adhesive type in the bottom drawer."

While Casey was busy Severus made an attempt to tidy his hair so at least it looked brushed. When she returned she handed him the adhesive parchment – and then held out a smaller scroll, frayed at the edges from age.

"I don't mean to pry but I couldn't help notice this," she said. "I was wondering if it was some sort of riddle?"

Severus recognised the scroll before he'd opened it: it was the Potions riddle from four years ago.

"I'd forgotten I still had this," he said. "You're right – it is a riddle. In 1991 we were given the job of protecting the Philosopher's Stone – a stone used to make the Elixir of Life. We each put up a separate obstacle for anyone to find the Stone; mine was that riddle."

Casey looked back at the scroll with a frown.

Severus added, "Once you entered the room purple flames would appear in the doorway behind you, and black ones in the one ahead – two different potions would stop the flames from hurting you. The riddle is a clue."

"Can I try and solve it?" Casey asked.

"It depends on knowing the sizes of the bottles – I no longer have them."

She looked disappointed, so Severus said, "However… I can recreate the arrangement."

On the workbench he was using he lined up a row of seven empty vials of different sizes – in the same order as the originals – and Casey stepped up to the table and began working it out.

After reading the scroll again she moved aside two vials back from the row – the ones representing wine – and then moved the respective vials to the left of the wines – two of the poisons. She then moved the seventh bottle – the one for purple flames. That left her with two vials – one twice as big as the other. There was so much concentration etched on her face – Severus felt as if she would snap at him if he made a sound.

"' _Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides_ ,'" Casey murmured. "Well the giant is clearly the sixth – the dwarf means this tiny third one…

"It's the dwarf," she said at last.

"It is the dwarf," Severus replied, and Casey clapped her hands and beamed.

It was extraordinary to watch – he'd never heard of another witch or wizard using logic in this way – for most magical folk this riddle would be nearly impossible, except of course people like Hermione Granger.

"You just have to use the process of elimination," Casey said. "As Holmes said – 'Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable–'"

"'–must be the truth,'" Severus finished.

Casey looked at him in surprise, and asked with a smile, "You read Holmes and Watson, Professor?"

"I read them as a boy – I'm half-blood, so I had a Muggle education before Hogwarts."

"Which is your favourite?"

" _The Hound of the Baskervilles_."

" _A Study in Scarlett_ ," Casey replied. She looked back to the line of vials and said – "It's an excellently written riddle, Professor."

"I was certainly proud of it," he said modestly, a smile tugging on his lips.

Casey left the scroll on the table. She cast a glance at the vials of Dreamless Sleep and asked – "Do you want me to label these for you?"

"If you're not busy – I have a long list of potions to brew."

Before Severus even told her what to write on the labels she was already scribbling – so he started cleaning out the empty cauldron and prepared the ingredients for Pepperup Potions.

When the cauldron was on a steady flame he said, "I notice you frequently fill out the crossword in your Irish newspaper, Miss Casey. I would recommend taking out a subscription for the _Daily Prophet_. They do an excellent daily one."

Casey's face lit up in a wide smile.

"Thank you! The Irish crossword is always a bit repetitive – a good crossword has–"

"Variety?"

"Variety. But – in fairness – they do a fine weekend Sudoku."

"Your paper does Sudoku?" Severus asked. "You couldn't spare me a copy of it? – only I used to love Sudokus but the _Prophet_ stopped printing them long ago."

"Of course, Professor – I'll see you Sunday morning," Casey said.

Severus's next words slipped out: "I look forward to it, Miss Casey."

At first he wished he could he could take it back – it sounded far too forward – but Casey gave a small chuckle and said, "So do I."

 **0o0o0o**

The next two weeks until the start of September sped past – Neasa spent most of it trying to learn her way around the castle. She started by memorising the route to the Professors' offices and the classrooms, and to the essential locations like lavatories and the Owlery.

From Professor Snape she had heard all about the infamous new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Dolores Umbridge, who had been selected by the Ministry when Dumbledore was unable to find a Professor for the job. Umbridge had already settled in her belongings into her office but had decided to remain at the Ministry for a while longer. When she did arrive in late August Neasa witnessed a cold meeting between her and Dumbledore, who treated the woman with respect but with little actual friendliness.

Neasa quickly decided that she would never – ever – ask Umbridge for fashion advice – or office décor tips for that matter. Not only that but she swore to herself to never _willingly_ start a conversation with the woman – for their first chat went just _brilliantly_.

"So you grew up in Belfast, I take it?" Umbridge asked. Neasa had tried to be polite to her and had invited her to lunch at the staff table – but was now regretting that decision.

"Derry, actually," she said, trying not to take offence.

"I don't know Derry," Umbridge mused.

"You'll know it as Londonderry–"

" _London_ derry – of course – why didn't you say that from the start? Yes, I've heard of it – and what did your family do? I know a few people in the Irish Ministry – I might know of them."

"You won't. My parents are both Muggles," Neasa said.

The change in Umbridge's demeanour was immediate – and comical, on some level. She first grimaced sharply, and then shifted uncomfortably in her chair, inching away from Neasa. For a minute she seemed completely unable to speak.

At last she cleared her throat delicately and asked, "Muggleborn, are you?"

"Well I'm not adopted," Neasa said bluntly.

Umbridge muttered something under her breath that sounded like – "I'm not surprised you're just a secretary."

"Muggles and Muggleborns are just as good as anyone else," Neasa said defensively. "We're not better than Muggles just because we have magic–"

"It is precisely _for_ that reason that we're superior to them, Miss Casey, and the sooner you accept that, the better," Umbridge said simply.

The exchange made Neasa so angry she nearly shouted at Professor Snape that afternoon when he asked her for a copy of the weekend Sudoku.

"Take the _damn_ thing," she snapped, pushing the newspaper across the coffee table; she instantly regretted it when Snape widened his eyes at her.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Professor Umbridge," Neasa huffed. "She insulted Muggleborns right to my face – I guessed her politics before I met her, but I wasn't expecting her to be so – _upfront_ – about it."

"So don't let her bother you," Snape replied plainly. "She'll be gone at the end of the year anyway – not one Defence Professor stays for more than one term."

"I still shouldn't have to put up with it."

"No – you shouldn't," Snape said. After a pause, he added, "Some of the best people I've known were Muggleborn. Some of our smartest students are Muggleborn. What does her opinion really matter?"

Neasa folded her arms – she knew Snape was right, but there was something unnerving about Umbridge behind that sweet smile and those decorative plates. That woman could wield serious power if she chose to – and to a Muggleborn, and everything else that Neasa was, a woman like that was no empty threat.

 **0o0o0o**


	6. The Elephant in the Room

**_The Elephant in the Room_**

 **0o0o0o**

 **SEPTEMBER**

Neasa awoke too early on the first day of term and arrived equally early for breakfast in the Great Hall. The only other Professors there were Snape and Umbridge; the former was talking to some Slytherin Prefects by the house table, and the latter was spooning too much sugar into her tea. Neasa chose the chair furthest from the other woman and cast her weary eyes over a nearby _Daily Prophet._

Her mind lay on the start-of-term feast and the enlightening speech Professor Umbridge gave to the school – not to mention the foreboding song performed by the Sorting Hat. What did it all mean when a nine-hundred-year-old hat warned of war and battle? Was its warning to be heeded?

"You're sitting in my chair."

Neasa looked up in surprise; Professor Snape was standing to her left, tapping his fingers on the table impatiently.

"It's the furthest from Professor Umbridge," she replied.

"Why do you think I chose it?" Snape asked, taking the chair next to Neasa. "Also, that's my newspaper."

Neasa gingerly gave Snape the paper and asked, "How are you this morning?"

Snape sighed, "You know how it is – new faces to get used to, new names to remember, detentions to hand out, points to give and take. Usually take."

Neasa hid her smirk behind her coffee cup. She let her eyes linger for a moment longer on Snape, noticing that his clothes were freshly bought for the new term and his hair was washed. These small changes put him in a different ligtht; he looked more relaxed, more human... More attractive.

There had always been something attractive about him – Neasa couldn't deny that in the past month Snape seemed to be the only person she saw when she walked into a room. She looked forward to talking to him the most; if she cracked a joke she always searched for his reaction first; when he smiled at her, she felt like she was walking a little taller than everyone else.

Snape was mysterious and guarded; the only time Neasa had seen him without his black jacket had been late one night when she couldn't sleep, and she'd gone to his dormitory in the hope that he was still awake and could give her another vial of Sleeping Draught.

Snape had answered the door in his white shirt with the collar undone; he held _The Hounds of the Baskervilles_ in one hand. It wasn't casual – he still wore black shoes and trousers – but he looked so _different_ like this. He looked like another man.

The owls began to arrive in that moment, pulling Neasa from her thoughts as they dropped letters and parcels onto the students' breakfasts – small gifts and items they'd forgotten at home. Neasa expected nothing, but to her surprise a post owl fluttered down in front of her and Snape and held out its foot.

"Who are you for?" Snape asked the owl as he took the letter. He glanced at the address and then passed it to Neasa. "It's yours."

She unsealed it and flattened it against the table.

 _Just a note wishing you luck on your first day – however, the Irish are lucky enough so I doubt you need it!_

 _All my best._

"An admirer?" Snape asked, peering over her shoulder. Neasa's cheeks flushed and she folded away the note.

"Jealous?" she replied. Snape didn't answer.

For Neasa, the first day of term was little different from any other: she went through the Hogwarts post in the morning, replied to Dumbledore's owls just after midday, and was sent off to pass a message to Professor Flitwick before lunch. (She spent twenty minutes delivering an entire conversation between the Professors, before Dumbledore noticed how worn out Neasa was and said he would Floo directly.)

After lunch she was sent away again – this time with a message to Professor Snape's classroom. It was one of the few Neasa had remembered first time, because it was so cold in the dungeons – and she knocked twice on the door.

Her knock went unanswered, for from the other side of the wood she could hear Snape's shouting:

"Never in my fourteen years teaching in this school has anyone ever been as foolish as to throw _chilli_ into a potion!" he was yelling. "Chilli, for the love of Merlin! Congratulations, Ms Royal, because when I write my memoirs you will undoubtedly have an entire chapter dedicated to you all about this incident – it is _days like this_ that will be the reason my life will be ten years shorter than it would otherwise!"

Neasa pondered knocking again, but how much did she really value her life?

She went for it, and the shouting stopped. Then the door was opened by a timid Slytherin boy.

"Is Professor Snape available?" Neasa asked him.

"Er – now's not a good time–"

From over the boy's shoulder there seemed to shoot a breath of fire, and then Snape was calling, "Get back! _Stupefy_!"

Neasa stepped around the student and saw, to her utter shock and horror, a dragon tied up in ropes on a table in the Potions classroom. There were several upturned cauldrons on the floor and scorch marks on the wood. Potions were still brewing away on abandoned workbenches, purple steam emitting from each one.

The seventh year Slytherin and Gryffindor students were huddled in a group behind Snape's desk and surrounding the chalkboard, well back from the animal, with Snape standing in front of them, his wand trained on its head.

Stunning the beast had had little effect; instead it drew itself up ready to retaliate, and Snape seemed at a complete loss for what to do – Neasa instantly stepped forward and cried, " _Protego_!"

The dragon roared and its flames hit the charm, saving the Professor, who quickly retreated. He glanced over at Neasa for a moment and his eyes said everything: _thank you_.

Then, pulling himself back together, he looked over his shoulder at the terrified students and barked, "Well what are you all doing? _Get out!_ – someone get Professor Grubbly-Plank!"

The students began filing out the room and a Slytherin Prefect ran down the corridor to fetch the Care of Magical Creatures Professor.

Neasa moved to stand next to Snape, keeping her wand tightly in hand; the Professor slowly lowered his own from the dragon. He was breathing fast in shock but he didn't look at her.

The dragon looked distinctly miserable, perched on a workbench it had claimed as its own with its wings tied up in ropes. It let out another breath of fire, blackening the table even further.

"Have I taught those _insolent Gryffindors_ nothing in their seven years of magical education?" Snape spat. "There is a _reason_ I don't stock chilli in my stores – because _this_ is the result!"

He flicked his wrist in the direction of the dragon, almost as if it wasn't obvious what he was referring to. Silver sparks flew out from the end of his wand.

"What do you know about dragons?" he asked Neasa.

"Not much – but we'll need at least one other wizard to properly stun it. I don't know if dragons born from an egg or summoned from a potion react the same way; there are arguments both ways and it depends on the chilli–"

The dragon roared again, breathing fire onto the stone ceiling of the classroom. Then it turned on a nearby table and set it alight.

Neasa wordlessly removed the invisible barrier and vanished the burning table – this seemed to annoy the dragon as if Neasa had just destroyed its artwork, and it hissed at her, smoke blowing out from its nostrils. She replaced the shield.

"Where did you learn to cast such a good Shield Charm?" Snape asked offhandedly. In that moment footsteps could be heard from down the corridor, mercifully distracting him from the tint in Neasa's cheeks.

When she turned she saw Professor Grubbly-Plank and Dumbledore hurrying through the open door.

"Albus – Wilhelmina – thank Merlin," Snape said. "I trust you've been informed of the situation?"

"It seems obvious what the problem is, Severus," Dumbledore replied, stepping calmly into the room with his wand in hand. Professor Grubbly-Plank had moved into position on Neasa's other side, her wand pointing at the dragon, who was clawing at the table.

"Are the students all safe?" Dumbledore asked. "Including the one who conjured this dragon?"

"They won't be safe if I have anything to do with it!"

"The student must be distressed," Dumbledore said calmly.

"Can we deal with the _elephant in the room_?" Snape hissed, pronouncing each syllable with emphasis. Said dragon was looking expectantly at him as if awaiting a lecture about Potions.

"I think the only way to deal with this is that all four of us Stun it at the same time," Professor Grubbly-Plank said. "It won't harm the dragon, but it will incapacitate it for now – then we can cage it safely and someone can come and collect it."

"Who do you suggest?" Snape asked, as Neasa removed the Shield Cham.

"Charlie Weasley would be the first name to come to mind," Dumbledore said. "Neasa – perhaps you would pen him a letter once we are done here."

"Right – on my count," Grubbly-Plank said. The four of them levelled their wands at the dragon. "One – two – three… _Stupefy_!"

The dragon cried out and was thrown backwards – it hit another desk and upturned two more cauldrons, which clattered onto the floor, their contents spilling.

There was silence. The group took a few tentative steps towards the creature, which was lying perfectly still but still breathing. Grubbly-Plank bound it in more ropes and then Dumbledore transfigured a table into a cage and levitated the stunned dragon into it.

Snape turned away and surveyed his ruined classroom with a deep scowl on his face.

"Now," Dumbledore began, "I suggest we leave the situation as is, as the dragon can do no harm while in that cage. I shall ask Minerva to fetch the student guilty of this – Ms Royal, was it? – and we shall deal with the situation in my office."

He swept out of the room, followed by Professor Grubbly-Plank – Snape and Neasa stayed behind to put out the fires burning under the other abandoned cauldrons. All the time Snape was muttering loudly about "Gryffindors would away with _murder_ if you let them" and "this has been the _worst_ first day of term of my _career_ ".

 **0o0o**

When Neasa finished penning the letter to Charlie Weasley she took it to the Owlery and sent it off with a school owl, before returning to the office; Dumbledore was sitting at his desk and Snape was pacing the room, his arms crossed. He had apparently run out of insults to mutter under his breath – or just didn't want to say them aloud in front of his boss.

Just when Neasa had sat down behind her desk the door opened and Professor McGonagall entered, closely followed by a petrified-looking Gryffindor student. Snape turned abruptly, and Dumbledore looked up.

"Ms Kate Royal," he said – it was not necessarily friendly but far from strict. Professor McGonagall's lips were pursed thin and Snape was now scowling again.

"Professor Dumbledore," Kate replied timidly.

"Would you like to explain why we are all here?" Snape asked with an edge, and Kate looked down sharply.

"Well…" she gulped, "I threw a chilli into a volatile potion and accidentally summoned a dragon."

"Perhaps you should start from the beginning," Dumbledore said.

Kate nodded. "I– last night, at the feast, there were arrangements of chillies on the table – obviously you weren't meant to eat them – they were for show – but I found one this morning, discarded on the floor, and…"

"Sometime today, Ms Royal," Snape sighed.

"I didn't want a first year getting hurt by a chilli," Kate hastily added, her voice shaky, "by eating it by accident or stepping on it – so I put it in my pocket, planning to throw it away when I had the chance. Then I had to go to Potions, and… Professor Snape…"

"I gave a clear warning to the class," Snape said, rocking impatiently on his heels, "didn't I?"

Kate nodded.

"I said – _after_ having explained how _volatile_ the potion was – I said: 'Chillies – especially red ones – must never, under any circumstances, be allowed into this room because the effects would be disastrous.'"

"I thought I would get in trouble if the Professor found that I had brought a chilli into the class – so I…"

"You disposed of the chilli somewhere it wouldn't be found," Dumbledore said. Kate nodded.

"I meant no harm!" she implored, as if that would make Snape believe her. "Please don't expel me – I was only trying to protect others."

"The power to expel you does not lie with me," Snape replied coolly. "It lies with Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster."

Kate looked pleadingly at the other Professors. Dumbledore remained stoical; Professor McGonagall's stern face didn't change.

"It is clear there was no ill intent," Dumbledore said slowly. "The important thing is that no one was injured. I think – but you may weigh in on this, Minerva – that a long period of detention and a letter informing Ms Royal's parents will be sufficient. Perhaps also a bill for damages."

While Professor McGonagall looked ready to accept this, and Kate looked relieved that the Headmaster was being so lenient, Snape looked incandescent.

He swiftly crossed the room to Dumbledore's desk and said in an undertone, "Albus – my classroom is _wrecked_. That dragon could have killed someone – the appropriate punishment is suspension, _at the least_."

Dumbledore looked at Professor McGonagall, who said to Snape, "It was only an accident, Severus. Surely you can see that."

Professor Snape looked at Professor McGonagall like he didn't recognise her.

"It can't be worth staining a student's good record just for a mistake," Dumbledore said.

Snape looked back at him incredulously, but when Dumbledore didn't lower his gaze, his face crumbled slightly and he sighed, giving a tiny nod of assent.

Kate looked overjoyed; she stayed still while Dumbledore gave her a lecture about not listening to her Professors, but Neasa was sure the teenager wanted to punch the air.

When Kate was given leave to go, she bowed her head to the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall, and then turned to Snape and said humbly, "I'm very sorry for what happened and for the damage caused to your classroom."

Snape looked surprised – almost taken aback – at receiving an honest apology. He only nodded stiffly at the student.

Professor McGonagall watched Kate leave, her lips still pursed with worry, and said to herself, "That's two detentions in one day."

"Who else has detention?" asked Dumbledore.

"Harry – with Dolores," Professor McGonagall replied. "He shouted at her –said that it was true that He Who Must Not Be Named is back."

Dumbledore's expression turned grave; Snape had no reaction at all; he seemed to be in a world of his own. Professor McGonagall made to leave and when the door clicked shut, Dumbledore looked with raised eyebrows at Snape, who huffed, " _What_?"

"How much coffee have you had today, Severus?"

Snape looked away, breaking eye contact with the Headmaster; Neasa quickly began staring at a random piece of parchment on her desk, not wanting either man to think she was listening.

"If you insist on ruining your health behind my back I shall give an order to the Hogwarts elves to stop bringing coffee to your office," Dumbledore said.

"Albus, _stop it_."

Now Neasa realised why Snape wasn't meeting Dumbledore's eyes: he was avoiding Legilimency.

Several moments of tense silence elapsed, and then Dumbledore said, "Neasa, perhaps you would assist Severus in the clean-up operation."

 **0o0o0o**

I have no idea what the outcome of throwing chilli into a potion would be, I've never seen chilli as a listen Potions ingredient anywhere.


End file.
